Alongside our enriching psychotherapy training online we proudly presented the much-anticipated annual 2023 Wise Therapy Spotlight publication -a compilation of profound essays and captivating artwork from our esteemed psychotherapy training community. We extend our sincere gratitude to all contributors who shared their insights and talents, making this publication a true testament to the brilliance within our community.
A special congratulations to our featured authors! Your responses to the pivotal question, “How, as a community, do we repair a sick world when it is anguished with mental suffering?” have left us inspired.
If you’re interested in downloading the full Wise Therapy Spotlight December 2023 Issue, Click to Download the PDF now.
Robyn Whittaker, M.D. CCFP
Look Up
In spite of always having imagined myself having children, it took me until age 40 to bring one into the world. The terrifying task of raising a child in a broken and oftentimes sick world seemed… just that- terrifying.
How to subject another little soul to the immense pain and suffering that exists in every corner of the planet?
How to nurture and encourage them to be one of the good humans, one who affects positive change and shares kindness to balance all that negativity?
But nature and force of biological will persisted, and I was lucky to meet and marry a partner who I wanted to share the experience of parenting with – surely the genes and compassion of two good people deserved to be shared with the world, I thought.
In June 2023 I gave birth to my daughter. The 5 months since have included much time spent watching in awe and fascination as her tiny brain allows her body and her senses to take in the world around her and to interact with it. And with these observations, a new perspective dawned. The warm, snug confines of the womb, where she would only have taken in the comforting sound of my heartbeat and some muffled noises from beyond, and had to do nothing else but exist—her every need met by the flow in the cord that bound us; how wonderful, how secure and safe that would have felt. Then all at once, her toasty cave would eject her into the bright, cold overwhelming outside. Fluorescent lights, pokes, prods, diaper changes, learning to suckle, being passed from one caregiver to another, no longer securely bound by the sturdy walls of her previous digs- how insanely intense that would be. Add to it, a tiny infant brain which is still creating synapses and has no comprehension or way of processing the changes. Is it any wonder we seem as a species to spend the rest of our lives trying to return to that same sense of safety and security that was once simply where we began to exist?
Apart from the deep compassion that this realisation gave me for our crying baby, particularly those nights or times where her suffering felt inconsolable, it has also created an awareness of the tiny, overwhelmed children in us all. When we go through these first years, trying to understand where it is we have so abruptly found ourselves on landing earthside, if we are not held, loved, nurtured and comforted—how is it possible for us to become happy, secure individuals?
We did not ask to be here, to be created, to be thrust so suddenly into the blinding reality of the world. And yet from the day we are born, we are obligated to keep growing, learning and putting one foot in front of the other as we figure it all out.
As these musings have percolated in my new-parent brain, another reality of the modern world has become apparent. In the hours spent nursing or coaxing the baby to sleep, it is too easy to be drawn in and hooked with that addictive little device we all have within arms reach—our phones. Sending a picture to a loved one, checking the baby tracking app to see when she last slept, a quick check of social media so that annoying red dot goes away, attending to the emails that continue even when you are on maternity leave; these compact little computers feel understandably indispensable when it comes to keeping us entertained and connected.
But are they? Once the baby is awake, she wants my full attention, my almost unbroken eye contact. When my gaze is drawn away to the glare of the phone screen, the connection between us is broken and she is left wondering why that little block of technology holds so much appeal for her mom. When she goes to sleep at night and my husband and I have a few precious hours to ourselves, there we are—sitting at opposite ends of the couch, staring into the abyss of the internet. We are not talking, apart perhaps from a comment about what we are scrolling over and a laugh over a funny video. We are not present, nor are we truly connecting. We are busy, occupied and somewhat amused by what we are accessing, though blissfully unaware of the algorithms that spew the subject matter our way.
Don’t get me wrong, after a day of work and or childcare, we all need to imbibe some mind numbing content on occasion. As someone with family in far reaching corners of the world, my device keeps me connected across the miles and oceans to beloved people who I would otherwise have no means of reaching. I have just watched my daughter as she looks at her dad, phone in hand and sending what might be an important email or text, and see the question in her eyes: ‘What makes that thing more important than me? Why aren’t you looking at ME?’ And a little part of my heart breaks that she might feel less of a priority than this expensive block of technology.
We go to swim lessons, and all around us I see the parent who is not in the pool with their baby, locked into their phones. Everyone’s face is lit up by the screen directly in front of them. But are any of us talking to each other, perhaps sharing an anecdote about the baby we are there to watch and serve? Connecting over the onerous task of raising a child in the 21st century? Perhaps exchanging a phone number with a fellow mom such that we may have a real life interaction or play date in the near future? Probably not. These little toys of ‘connection’ are, in fact, weapons of mass disconnection.
It’s not to say I am any better—the trappings of social media and all those apps and sites designed to draw us- they get me too. I have installed other apps to stop me looking at those addictive apps too often. But ultimately, it takes my conscious effort to Put. The. Phone. Down. When I am tempted to grab it to take another picture, or quickly check on this or that, but my baby is sitting on my lap and smiling each time I sing to her, it often takes iron will to resist the urge. In the grocery store, waiting in line to check out—why wouldn’t I pull it out and check my emails?
But if I didn’t, maybe I would say hello to the woman behind me who also has diapers in her cart, who looks tired and defeated. Perhaps we could share our anguish over the price of groceries, or a trick to getting our babies to sleep a little longer at night. Maybe we could chat, just briefly, about how hard it is to go back to work after having a baby, especially as a GP psychotherapist. And I could see that little child in her, craving security and love she once took in without knowing it, nestled in her own mother’s belly, and in turn, she could see the child in me.
My hope is that with our heads held up, not stooped to watch a new reel on instagram, and our eyes focused on each other—we may start to create a network of connection—threading a sliver of compassion and recognition through the hearts of the children within us. We could all feel seen, and safe. And perhaps that is how we might start to repair our broken and disconnected world.
If you would like to be inspired by more of the essays and artwork published in the Wise Therapy Spotlight December 2023 Issue, Click to Download the PDF now.
